Linoleum
by Pop Horror
Summary: Frerard. "All couples have little activities they like to do together- some like to go long bike rides, some like to visit art galleries, some like to collect postage stamps…  We like to chop up attractive strangers in the old warehouse behind our home!"
1. The First Day

**New story, bitches...**

**I don't own anything except from the storyline, which is completely fictional.**

* * *

><p>It's never a good sign when the first thing you see when you open your eyes is a body bag.<p>

Nor is it a good sign when you look up to find two men towering over you in matching surgeon's masks and laboratory coats, each coated in an equal share of blood, the backdrop behind them being a clinical array of tiles and linoleum that, although appearing sterile, still sported a twinkle of bloodstains and grime.

Charming. Just _charming._

"Oh, you shouldn't be awake yet, Darling", coos one of the men, a ruffled mock of blonde hair falling thick from his head, "We should get you some more anaesthetic…" He snaps off a sugar pink set of surgeon's gloves, the attempted jovial nature of the accessory being abolished by the copious dressing of blood that crusted over its latex fabric. With a careless fashion, he tossed the garments into a small plastic dish that sat to the left of my head- The same dish that contained a small scalpel and a human pinkie-finger.

Oh, well this was just great, wasn't it?

That was when I noticed that I was screaming, and it felt like I had been doing so for quite some time too, by the burning condition of my throat. The other man leant down towards me, placing his hand on my cheek and caressing it with a touch as light as baby's breath. All I could see of him from behind his mask was a piercing set of blue eyes. No, not just blue eyes- gemstone eyes, shining every different shade of cobalt and azure you could think possible.

"Calm down, honey. Just go back to sleep…"

I don't remember making a conscious decision to stop screaming, but for some reason my body obeyed his orders, causing my eyes to start drooping and my guard to be lowered. I barely even noticed when the first man pierced a needle through the skin on the side of my arm, filling my bloodstream with toxins that would surely knock me out for good. I barely even noticed myself drift off into the deep, indefinite realm of sleep.

* * *

><p>A video tape.<p>

That's the first thing I hear as I wake up again- the gentle, yet inconsistent buzz of a video tape being rewound.

I'm too scared to open my eyes.

But I know I'm going to have to eventually. As lovely as it is in my little cavern of darkness, I know that eventually I'm going to have to break out into the light and face reality, or whatever else awaits me out there.

When I do finally peel my eyes open, I'm met by bright, burning lights, the scolding scent of chlorine and a sharp shooting pain running down my left arm, concentrated at my knuckles. Again, I'm too scared to look.

"Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine! The world is waiting for you, Gerard…"

"Gerard..." my throat rasps and crackles as I form words, searching for the person who spoke, my head still buzzing and vision still impaired, "My name… Why do you know my..."

"Easy", a figure strides out from the corner of my eye- the blonde one, I remember- and taps a driver's license through the air. I guessed it must be mine.

"Oh, so the boy's awake?" Another figure walks into view- the one with the blue eyes- and I can see the blonde man suddenly stand to attention, like he was scared of the blue eyed man, or he held some form of dominance over him.

"Yeah, Matt, he just woke up a few seconds ago…"

"That's good…"

'Matt', lowers his level down to mine, making me realise that I'm sitting in a chair, completely upright, whereas before I had been lying down. I guess they changed my location. I will admit, this room is slightly cleaner than the other- the blood stains on the white tiled walls are less abundant, making the atmosphere slightly less vulgar.

"You're cute", he murmurs, more to himself than to me, as he grabs onto my cheeks with one hand, running the other through the strands of ebony hair that cover his head

"I know, ain't he right?" the blonde man sniggers, wrapping his arm round the shoulder of the darker haired man and also proceeding to paw at my face.

I feel the pain in my hand strengthen, so I sneak a peek down.

I wish I hadn't.

I'm missing my pinkie finger.

"Oh, not with the bloody screaming again…" the blonde haired man grumps as he pushes my face to the side, rising to his feet.

"Go get a scalpel from the surgery Dom; I'm sure he'll shut up if we cut his fuckin' tongue off…"

I'm instantly calm- silent. They begin to laugh hysterically.

Through the madness, I mentally note the discovery of a new name.

Matt and Dom- well don't they make the sweetest little couple?

"So, I'm guessing you're wondering what you're doing here, right?" Matt asks after controlling himself. I nod, despite being terrified.

"Well it's simple", explains the blonde man- Dom, "We're a couple, we are, and all couples have little activities they like to do together- some like to go long bike rides, some like to visit art galleries, some like to collect postage stamps… We like to chop up attractive strangers in the old warehouse behind our home!"

I gulp down on air, not going unnoticed by my wonderful hosts.

"But we're not going to cut you up just yet… We like to play games with our toys first…" Matt continues

"But you cut off my pinkie-finger… "I regret speaking as soon as the words exit the safe confinements of my lips.

"Yes; yes we did."

"It was the one that was sitting in that dish, wasn't it?"

Neither of the men replies immediately, instead giving each other wary glances, nodding to each other before casing their faces in sadistic grins, instantly sending shivers up my spine.

"Oh no, that wasn't your pinkie… It was your boyfriends…"

* * *

><p>Everything goes black for a little while- I fear I may have passed out again- but I do know that when I regained consciousness, hell was I screaming. Screaming and bawling and kicking and roaring. My limbs rocketed out in all directions, attempting to swipe at one of the men, but failed thanks to the ropes that hugged my body like a strait jacket. I hadn't noticed the ropes before, but now that I had, boy were they restricting.<p>

"YOU HAVE FRANK? YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! LET HIM GO, YOU FUCKING CREEPS!"

They didn't respond, though. They stood still, the same merciless smiles pulled across their faces like paper masks, used to disguise any emotion or sense of pity that might accidently flood their sadistic little hearts.

"You want to see him?" Matt chimes almost enthusiastically as he kneels down beside the virtually antique television on the floor several metres in front of me. Despite receiving no reply from me, he hits play, rolling the video into life.

Frank appears on the screen.

Despite the bad picture quality, I can see he is badly bruised- there is a slight swelling to his left eye, a clear purple glow beginning to build up around its edges, his clothes are badly torn and I could swear there was blood on his shirt collar.

"Hey, Gee", he croaks, staring directly into the camera, directly at me, "I'm okay, don't worry about me. Matt and Dom haven't hurt me too bad- I think I'm safe. I don't want you worrying; I don't want you worrying at all…

"I've only got like a minute on this thing, they said, so I'm just going to cut to the chase- I love you baby, I love you more than the whole fuckin' world. You are everything, fuck, you _are _my whole world. And once we get out this, Gerard, I promise we're going to get married and we're going to buy that apartment we always wanted to buy and you're going to get that comic of yours published and everything is going to be fine. I promise. I promise it, baby. Everything will work out okay. Everything will-"

The screen buzzes to snow, indicating that the tape ran out of film and that the movie had ceased to play.

It also meant Frank was gone.

Forever? For a day? For a week? For a year? Who bloody knew?

But to me, he was gone, and no matter how short a time period he was gone for, it was always too long.

"Why did you choose me?" I crackle, my voice powdered with salt tears, "Why did you choose us?"

"You all think you're so special, don't you?" Dom sneers as he places his hand on my thighs, staring me straight into the eye, "There was no real reason we chose you- We just happened to be horny, and you and your boyfriend just happened to be _hot…_"

A look of panic cracks across my face.

"Horny? Are you going to rape me?"

Matt pulls Dom off me gently by the shoulder before shrugging his shoulders.

"We're just going to have to see how the game plays out. Now, Gerard darling, you should think about it like this- you are not the first people we have kidnapped, and you are _most_ _certainly_ not going to be the last. Goodnight, lovey…"

The next think I know, the two men are walking towards the only door out, flicking a light and closing the door shut as they leave, subduing the room to bitter sweet darkness.


	2. The Second Day

**Finally getting the next chapter of this up. I feel like a God...**

**Umm, and does anyone feel like reviewing this? i mean, i got a load of story subscriptions, but like no reviews... I want to know if you like it, that's all..**

* * *

><p>I think it was daylight when I finally woke up.<p>

But it was only a guess- the minute window sliced into the wall was so tiny and plastered with grime, dust and decaying flies that it was difficult to tell whether the obscured light intruding from it was that of four in the morning or two in the afternoon. I just had to hope it was daytime. I could hear my stomach release an almighty growl in request for food, yet I feared I would not be receiving any any time soon, as even if it was morning. There was no reassurance that they would feed me, or even come and see me.

There was a high possibility they may have just left me there to starve.

Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately- I still haven't quite made up my mind- they didn't let me starve. Only a couple of minutes after my awakening, they were already pushing into the room to greet me.

"G' Morning Gerard!"

I didn't look up, but I could tell from the distinct inability to pronounce the letter 'R' that the man speaking was Matt. Instead, I stared at the ground, watching as my bear feet squealed against the plastic flooring.

"Giving us the silent treatment, are you?"

"At least it's a change from last night! The fuckin' wanker was screaming to all hours!"

"Shush, Dom. Be nice to him. Here, are you wanting some food?"

Again, I didn't acknowledge Matt's lousy effort to make contact with me. Instead I concentrated on the harsh synthetic screech of linoleum against skin.

"Please, don't ignore me- It's for your own good…"

I peer up slightly through the greasy strands that fall from my head like and ebony curtain- fuck, I could really go a shower right about now- but fail to make full eye contact with either of the men. I notice their clothing has changed. Neither of them wear the hospital gear now, but Matt a white t-shirt with matching jeans and suspenders and Dom sunny yellow tight fitting trousers and black shirt.

Of course, this was the _perfect_ time to be paying such close attention to something as trivial as fashion, but it did comfort me a little, I guess.

"You want this?"

Dom brings a sandwich out from behind his back- a crudely made arrangement of bread, cheese and butter, all finished off with a grubby garnish of his finger prints. I don't complain though. I feel it is easier to simply nod and accept their 'kind' donation. I've already devoured the snack with my starved eyes before it's even touched me, though.

"So, I'm guessing you'll want to know a little more about your situation?"

I make eye contact with Matt- his icy blue eyes digging in to me like they were bearing a hole into my soul- as I shovel the sandwich into my mouth, not bothering about manners or that it may as well be poisoned for all I know. It doesn't taste that bad, to be honest. There might be a little too much butter for my likings, but it's still a blessing.

"Okay, so here's how things are going to run- You do whatever we tell you to do, no matter how gruesome or disgusting it may seem, and your darling little Frankie-bear will be unharmed. Fail to do what we say, however-"

Matt's stable voice is interrupted by the sudden manic laughter of his counterpart.

"We'll kill him! He'll be fuckin' dead!"

I choke on my mouthful of food.

"What Dominic here was _trying_ to say…" Matt picked up with a seemingly smooth complexion to his words, "is that if you don't do as we say, we'll poison Frank. We'll poison him until he dies. And it won't be a quick, one pill sort of death, it will be a slow, rotting, agonizing death. You see, every time you disobey us we'll give him a little more poison, so slowly but surely he'll crumble away. And whose fault will it be?"

I'm screaming again, I realise- strangling out hundreds of incomprehendable profanities, none of it making any sense to me whatsoever. I've been doing that a lot over the last few days.

"No Gerard, that's when you're wrong, it won't be our 'fucking fault', it'll all be down to you because you're a _selfish little bastard_…"

"Dom, baby, please…"

"But it's true!"

I've stopped shouting now, but I'm shaking uncontrollably, possibly in shock. I'm not really sure, to be honest I've got no clue what's happening anymore. I'm praying it's all a nightmare.

"Now, Gerard… The same goes for Frank, so don't think it's just you we're playing with. If he doesn't do what we say, we'll poison you too. So it's all fair, right?"

"Why are you doing this? W-why?"

I dropped my sandwich long ago. Despite only having managed to get a couple of bite-fulls of it into me, I can already feel the half-digested remains of it creeping up my throat.

"It's all part of the game. If you don't want to play it with us, then that's fine- we'll just kill you're little Frankie…"

"Oh, Matty! Tell him about the prize!"

A devilish grin spread across the leader's face like tarnish on an already rusted surface. I don't think I ever got used to that grin, not in the whole time I spent in that hell hole. It was sickening, like a razorblade digging into flesh- no matter how many times you watched it carve intricate lines of blood into your skin, you would never get used to the pain it forced through your body.

"Of course, it wouldn't be much of a game if it didn't have a prize for the winner! So the prize is for one of you to be released- to be free and out of here without our questioning. But in order to win, you must kill off the other competitor- in this case, your boyfriend…"

I was right about feeling sick. The next thing I knew, I was emptying my guts out onto the floor.

* * *

><p>It felt like an eternity before the fading shimmer of daylight melted into a bleary dusk, though I think it might have been a couple of hours.<p>

They left me alone again, saying they had to go "prepare for the game"- a not so pleasant thought. I couldn't even stomach the thought of what torture and cruelty they were planning for me.

I had to be grateful though, because even though they left me on my own again, they had untied me from the chair, giving me full roam of the more or less empty room, also leaving me a bowl of water because they were feeling particularly considerate. I did toy with the idea of smashing the bowl and using the shards of porcelain to slit my throat or something of the likes, but I always ended up pushing the thought to the side. I wasn't quite ready for that. Yet.

I often wondered why they left me a bowl though…

It was only at this point that I observed my own clothing- a threadbare hospital gown in the much in trend shade of clinical blue, a complementing slit down the back showing off my whole ass and a gorgeous blood-splatter print that just rounded the whole little number off.

_Oh God, they've already seen me naked…_

Not that it was really significant to anything. By the time they were through with me, they would probably do a lot worse.

I was awoken from my dizzy little daydream at the sound of the lock of the only escape from the tiny room unlatching with a satisfactory clunk. Submerging from whatever lay behind the doorway came Matt and Dom, both looking relaxed, comfortable- unlike me. Not only was I starting to feel the horrible gnawing sensation of hunger again and shivering like a drowning rat in the artic, but I needed to pee. And I mean _really_ needed to pee.

But of course, there was no toilet or anything in the room.

Fuckin' bitches.

"Hello again, Gerard dear…"

I look up from the corner I've taken shelter in, knees tucked up to my chest and tied down with my arms- my only way of preserving heat in the tiny fridge of a cell. I bight my lip as I observe the camera tight in Dom's grip.

"So, are you ready to play the game, honey? Frank's already played his first move…"

I gulp as Dom sneers the words through gritted teeth, a perplexing shade of anger and eagerness tinting his flawless skin.

"W-what do you want me to do?"

"Take your gown off."

I knew it was coming, yet the words hit me like a tonne of bricks, thumping in to my chest and leaving me breathless. But of course, it would only get worst with the inevitable clicking of the camera- snapshots of my humility forever trapped in the hands of my captors.

Reluctantly, I rise to my feet, shivering as I feel the soft fabric drop from my torso, pooling around my ankles and exposing my bare flesh. I hate them. I really hate them. I don't want them to see me like this. I don't want _anyone_ to see me like this, except from Frank.

Oh the _irony._ It would be Frank that I'm doing this for- the one person who I want to see me naked.

But I can't let them kill him. I just can't. The image of him slowly withering away and dying _kills_ me inside, so I bear it out, shivering in the cold as Matt smirks over my body with fiendish, hungry eyes, Dom raising the polaroid camera to his face and beginning to snap away.

"C'mon! Work it baby! Let me see that sexy little body!"

I stand still as before, despite Dom's requests. I don't feel much like a model, more like a scientific research specimen. The crawling feeling of hungry eyes scouring my pale white flesh is too unnerving for any photographic splendour.

"What did I say? Work the fucking camera!"

"Dom, darling, calm down, we just need to give him a few pointers…"

'_A few pointers' my ass!_

I really regretted thinking that when karma came back to bite me.

Strutting over to me, Matt took hold of my hand-rather forcefully due to my lack of motivation- and lowered me to the ground.

"That's it- get on your knees, bend over… Yes! That's perfect!"

It really was degrading. Usually when I find myself kneeling, bent over, ass in the air, all traces of clothing gone, it's a pleasant experience, but usually I'm doing it in the company of Frank. I'm not usually like this with two psychotic strangers and a camera behind me.

I can't bear to look at their faces. As much as I want to crook my neck round, see exactly what is happening, I just can't bring myself to do it. I don't want to see them as they line their lips with their tongues, camera snapping away. I don't want to see them devour my body with their eyes like vultures on road kill.

I don't want to feel like road kill, but that's exactly what I feel like.

Maybe they'll nail my head to a wooden board and hang me over their fire place once they're done with me.

* * *

><p>"I need to pee."<p>

I break the hour long silence we've been subdued in with that simple statement. It's true though- the whole time after the 'photo shoot' I sat on the floor, knees up at my chest, absolutely _bursting _for a piss.

"Go pee then."

"Where?"

Matt shrugs.

"I don't care- anywhere."

"Can you look away?"

I get a vacant stare from both men.

I don't even know why I bothered asking.

Making my way to the opposite side of the room (though, I will admit it's not a very far distance) I face the wall, pulling the gown of my shoulders again and pushing it out of the way. Taking a quick peek over my shoulder to see who's watching- both Matt and Dom, very intently, unsurprisingly- I take a hold of my dick and start to take a leak. It's difficult- I've never been one for peeing in public restrooms, never mind in front of perverted strangers- but I manage it, despite the azure eyes stabbing into me like switchblades. I hear them snigger, automatically sending a shrill shiver up my spine and forcing a fleshy pink stain to the surface of my cheeks. After what feels like forever, my bladder is finally emptied, allowing me to shake off and cover my frame with the hospital gown.

As soon as I turn round again I can tell there is a change in the atmosphere.

It isn't awkward- on their half at least- but there a definite chill in the air. It isn't creepy- it's fucking terrifying.

"So, do you want to know how things went down with Frank?"

"…Yeah…"

Dom titters under his breath, like I'm missing some sort of inside joke.

"Well, tell me what the fuck happened!"

They give each other a glance again- a glance of knowing and secrets and betrayal. The level of terrifying has just gone up a notch again.

The next level is 'heart attack'.

"He didn't play the game with us- he refused point blank to do anything we asked him to. He said something about how he 'loved' you and how he could 'never betray' you", Matt's words are dipped in disgust, "So I guess that means we're just going to have to poison you…"

I don't know how to respond to this. I'm not really sure what to think about it- part of me is trying to comprehend the fact that I'm going to be _poisoned _and if things keep going like this in the game I'm going to die, yet part of me is wondering why Frank chose to poison me. Maybe it was the better thing to do. Maybe I should have done it too- denied the 'sex' yet pay the price of poisoning by boyfriend. There was something romantic about it, dying for your loyalty.

But I could _never_ kill Frank.

"Can I go get the poison now? I've been waiting for so fucking _long_, Matty!"

Matt flicks his wrist toward the doorway, Dom leaving through it and returning several minutes later with a table spoon and what appeared to be a medicine bottle.

Flicking a lock of his sandy hair out of his eyes, Dom screwed the lid off the bottle, beginning to pour the thick, globulous liquid on to the spoon, cornering the foul smelling liquid towards me.

"Now, this", Matt explained, "is a very mild poison that, in small doses like this, will do no harm. However, if it is fed to you on a regular basis, it will start to take strong effects, eventually killing you. It will be a slow, painful process, but one that is fascinating to watch. I will admit this is my _favourite_ form of killing…"

I barely listen to Matt, far too concerned about the metal spoon being forced between my parched lips. I try to knock it back, but my reluctance can only last so long. Eventually I find the vulgar, metallic tinted gunk caressing my tongue.

I swallow down my first spoonful of death.


	3. The Fifth Day

**Wow guys, I'm actually alive. I know, I bet you all forgot about this, so did I to be perfectly honest...**

**But yup, that's another chapter done and dusted! i'm going to try and finish this off soon and _then_ finish off Once a Killer... because I need to try and concentrate on one thing at once and not constantly get distracted... Plus, i've got like fifty million other story ideas I want to get writing so, y'know...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Frank has never looked so beautiful.<p>

There he is, kneeling over me, locks of choppy brown hair falling over his face like a veil and eyelashes dusting his cheeks as he kisses my jaw line with such impeccable intricacy. I want to feel him. I want to taste him. I just want _him._

"I've missed you, Frankie…"

I'm on the mattress freckled with blood stains, in my tiny little prison cell, with the same gritty tiled walls and the same greasy lighting. But everything is so different now. Everything is so much better now that Frank is here. His presence carries a fragrance, a fragrance that dances through the air like roses or early morning dew.

"I know you have, baby. I've missed you too…"

He starts to nibble at my ear, his teeth grazing the tender flesh of my lobe, tugging and suckling at it as he flutters his fingers down my sides. I feel myself grow harder with every touch.

"_Fuck…_ I love you so much…"

I let my hands wander from where they have been positioned firmly on his back, letting them trail down towards the hem of his jeans, dipping my fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

"No… we can't…"

"Why not? We've not got much chance- Matt and Dom will be back soon… They'll take you away from me again!"

Frank leans up, looking down on me with a melancholy smile- a smirk laced with thought and understanding and a fundamental tone of grief. Something in the way his eyes flurry across my face tells me he wants me, but the way his breath pushes out of his lungs in a single sigh tells me he can't have me.

"You don't remember anything from just before you got here, do you?"

Now that he mentioned it, I can't. Everything from that night seems blurred, fogged, jumbled. It's like someone has taken the pieces from my memory and scattered them about, shortly before drenching them with gasoline and burning them down to the barest of ashes. I strain my memory, trying to conjure up something- a van? A mugging? Getting sneaked drugs? - But I get nothing.

I shake my head, admitting to temporary defeat.

Frank sighs again, leaning down to place a kiss on my lips, delicate like porcelain- so distinct and beautiful, but move the wrong way and it could shatter and break.

"I'm not really here at all, Gerard…"

And he was right.

Within a flash of a blink he was gone. Vanished. Like he had blown away with the breeze. He was like a ghost- had I really seen him, or was he just a shadow lurking among the corners of my mind.

This place was driving me mad already.

* * *

><p>"I want you to suck Dom off."<p>

I look up at Matt, towering above me like a God. He stares at me, waiting for my reply with the same nonchalant, heart piercing gaze adorning his face as ever other time previously.

The last couple of days have been more or less the same- the 'Despicable Duo' would come to my room in the morning, feed me, leave me alone again for _'x'_ number of hours, come back, get me to strip naked for me (they didn't take pictures anymore, but one time they did get me to touch myself) then nourish me with another spoonful of poison. It was sickening, but sufferable.

The part that I couldn't suffer though was the thought of Frank. He would be alone, cold, scared- just like me. He wouldn't know what to do or what to think. He would be lost, or so I hoped.

Despite the fact I wanted him to feel powerful, to refuse the sexual deeds, kill me off and make his bid for freedom, it terrified me that he was willing to do it.

Because I wasn't.

I think the survival instinct in me had broken. I guess that happens when you love someone- their life becomes more valuable than theirs. It's kind of like the 'fight or flight' instinct. I guess I'd chosen to fight for Frank's life instead of fleeing for my own, a disease that tends to come hand in hand with love- you completely forget about yourself in the shadow of it all.

But did that mean that love wasting shading Frank?

"So, what's your answer, bitch?"

Matt places his hand on the shoulder of a rather impatient Dom, attempting to calm him. He was like a little ticking time bomb- he was just waiting to blow up and cause a commotion at the slightest little set-off. Matt however was different. Matt was like a knife- he had a more experienced skilful flare to his work. He was patient with his attacks, slower, deeper and all the more painful.

"I'll… I'll do it…"

Just for Frank.

Matt grins sadistically as Dom drops his hand to the belt holding his jeans on his hips, fidgeting with it and beginning to drop his pants. Already I can see he is hard, which really worries me. He gets horny on the slightest little of thoughts.

"Get on your knees then."

I do as Dom says, dropping to the floor, feeling the cold thump of my bear knees against the plastic, as his jeans and boxers drop to the floor, pooling round his ankles. I'm terrified. It's not like he has the world's biggest dick, but I've got a feeling he's not going to be treating me as 'lovingly' as I'm used to. I've got a feeling the fingers in my hair will be doing less 'tugging' and a little bit more 'ripping the hair from my scalp'.

Placing his palms on my shoulders, he guides me towards his hips, thrusting straight into my mouth, giving little time for me get used to the object. I didn't think he would.

He begins to moan automatically, sickly, syrupy sighs slipping from tongue in a careless fashion, dripping down and pooling around me, building up and drowning me in his delight.

I've not got anything against giving head. In fact, it's always been something I've enjoyed. Even before I discovered that I was flexible with my sexuality I would always fantasize about sucking dick, despite having no attraction to the male gender at that point. It's always been my little secret craving, or addiction, a flaw I don't think any of my previous lovers have had a problem with. Giving a blow-job to Dom was completely different though. We weren't dating. We weren't lovers. And I'm not a cheater.

But I guess you have to be when your boyfriend's life is on the line.

I keep my eyes closed, terrified, but the prospect of fear always has teased me out into the unknown- I peak a glance to the side, my gaze met by the hungry, blue vulture eyes of Matt, biting onto his lip like a predator as he gently palms himself through his trousers.

I feel filthy, disgusting. I feel like a whore or a cheap porn star, down on my knees and being used like an animal. I'm only reminded even more of my insignificance as Dom takes a fistful of my hair, pushing deeper into my mouth so I can feel the head of his cock press against the back of my throat.

I begin to gag.

The next thing I see is not the inside of my eyelids, as it previously had been, but the panicked flush of black and white checkered flooring tainted with an exotic blaze of red.

Oh yeah, my _blood_.

"You little _shit…_"

I'm on the floor, skull cracked, face bashed and bleeding where Dom had lobbed me like a piece of trash. My jaw aches from the impact, but not nearly as much as my forehead, which I fear, although doubt, might be spilling my brains and whatever else is found inside my skull out like the contents of a piñata.

"You fucking gagged! Did I _tell_ you that you were supposed to gag? You're fucking lousy at this…"

A foot makes contact with my face as I try to rise, knocking me back to my resting place, but not hard enough to cause any considerable damage.

It may sound crummy or pathetic, but it really did hurt when they did that- told me I couldn't give head for shit- because, in a weird way, it was something I always took pride over. I'd never really been the most sexual of beings, always too lazy for acrobatics and too chicken for experimentation, but giving a good old-fashioned blowjob was the one thing I did shine through on. And now _that_ had been taken away from me. Yeah, I know it isn't really an important talent, and I have plenty talents outside the sexual circle, but it was the one thing that made me feel sexy or tempting and now BAM! That's gone too.

"I'm sorry, Dom, I didn't mean to, it was just…"

"It's not Dom you have to apologise to…"

Matt interrupts with his first words since the start of our little scramble, a shock to both our ears.

"It'll be Frank that it's costing…"

My face is coated with a deathly shade of pale, one which I cannot seem to wash off. I never thought my _skills_ in Matt and Dom's activities could affect the end results.

But I don't try to argue.

I don't think I have the energy anymore.

* * *

><p>I'm never usually alone with either of them- it just isn't something they like to do- but when I occasionally am, I feel the need to take advantage of it.<p>

"Why d'you do it?"

Dom looks up at me from where he is crouched on the floor, preparing a needle, fresh from its sterile packaging, with my daily poison. They decided the day beforehand that it would be far more sufficient if the injected me instead of fed me the substance after discovering that most of the vulgar tasting liquid would escape out the corners of my grimace and trickle down my chin.

"I've already told you, it's a hobby, so stop asking questions, cunt…"

I shuffle a little in my chair, watching the needle glint at me from across the room, feeling the pressure build. I'd never like needles. Not at all. And this one was snarling at me like a wolf glaring down on its prey.

"But it's a bit of an odd hobby to have. I mean, surely there was something that started it or, I don't know…"

Dom snaps his head up, pure anger foaming from his mouth as he charges towards me, grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me, spitting as he roared.

"I don't think that's any of your fucking business…"

The next thing I know, I feel the sharp, metallic twang of needle piercing skin, sending my shoulder into a tense frenzy of pain and my whole arm numb, motionless. I yelp a little, holding back what feels like a blizzard of tears building up in my throat, but stay quiet and motionless.

Dom quivers a little as he pulls the needle from my arm. His eyes falter across my face, like he doesn't want to look, but needs to. And at that very moment, I see something on him that I'd never seen on either of the duo- was it perhaps remorse?

I've always believed that eyes speak more than words themselves. Dom could have said anything to me right then, but the way his eyes deepened, drifted, told me nothing but the fact that he was in doubt.

"Do you love him?"

I didn't need to specify the name, but he could automatically tell that I was talking about Matt.

And his eyes didn't change.

Not until the door of my cell burst open, revealing a flustered looking Matt.

His eyes sprung right back into life then.

"Right, so have you given him his dose yet?"

Dom grins as he backs away from me, strutting over to Matt, entwining his fingers in his partner's hair as he dragged him in, and forcing their lips together in a sloppy, passionate kiss of tongue and teeth.

"Yup, he screamed like a fuckin' baby!"

I don't think I've ever received a bigger 'fuck you'.


	4. Either the Eleventh or Twelfth Day

**I was quicker with this chapter, are you proud guys?**

**Umm, things I would like to apologise for in this chapter:**

**1. the really short and crappy sex scene.**

**2. that fact that most of this chapter is just a load of explaining/ babbling.**

**3. Just my life in general...**

**Umm, enjoy! :D**

* * *

><p>I don't know if you've ever been in a situation where you're trapped in the same room for weeks on end with absolutely nothing to do and no change whatsoever and nothing to look at but the same blank walls and the same checkered flooring and the same blood prints on your bedding and the same dust coated light bulbs and the same smears on the ceiling plaster and-<p>

Well, if you have, you'll know that it is complete and utter _hell._

It's difficult to explain. It's like it's a pressure slowly building up- like when you're in a plane and you're slowly rising up into the air and there's a pressure building up in your ears and you don't notice it at first- at the start it's just the subtle sort of numbing feeling- but it keeps building up and up and up until you can barely stand it any longer and it's agonisingly painful and you just want it end and then suddenly it goes POP!

Except, unlike the situation in the plane, the popping of my ears does not supply me with a sudden rush of relief, but results in me losing my mind.

I've tried finding something to do in the many hours between my captor's visits, but there seems to be nothing. This place is like an abyss- there's no sense of day and night, or even of time itself. Sometimes I'm not sure whether days have passed since my last visit or only a matter of minutes. It's like the substance, the essence, has been sucked out of the tiny cell and replaced with the bitter dryness of nothing and space.

Hallucinations pass quite a lot of the time though. The visits from 'Frank' became more frequent as my time in captivation passed by. It was like he came in my most desperate of moments to guide me out of the suffocating darkness, something like a guiding light or a guardian angel. But he's not a guardian angel. Not literally, anyway.

"So, you still don't remember a thing, do you?" he had opened one of his appearances with. I told him the truth- I couldn't remember a thing. I had been trying, I swear to God I had, but nothing from the day before being kidnapped would spring to mind. Maybe it was whatever drugs they were feeding me. They appeared to be messing with my head considerably.

"You need to keep trying baby, you just got to remember…"

He looked hopeless as he spoke, like he had completely lost his faith in me. It was heart retching.

"But what's so important about it anyway? Why have I got to remember?" I questioned as I twirled a finger through a lock of his hair.

He removes my palm from his hair and begins to dot kisses across each individual fingertip, like he's counting them. He used to do that a lot, when we first started dating and the spark of romance still lingered. He didn't do it so much anymore, as three years into our relationship, although we loved each other more than we ever had done, the presence of lust and the 'unknown' had faded quite considerably.

Although, this time when he kissed my fingers, he had to overcome the problem of the missing one- his lips simply hovered over the space where my pinkie finger had once been, staring down at his own hand, matching his stump with my own before moving back to my thumb and going through the whole round again. I couldn't get over it as easily as he could however, finding my eyes glued to the bloodied stump where another digit should be found. I had to give it to them though- the wound was healing up quite nicely, the blood congealed and free from any signs of festering. Maybe it was whatever was in the drugs they were giving me- could it be a sort of fucked up antibiotic? It would explain why Frank's impairment wasn't looking as healthy as mine…

Mind you, he was only a figment of my imagination.

"Put it this way, it could flip this whole game around."

I stare at him, mouth hanging, bobbing slightly, as he takes my index finger into his mouth, sucking on it as he twirls his tongue round it, like a lollipop.

"Then why can't you just tell me?" I struggle through arousal, "If it's that important..."

Frank pulls of my finger with a pop, wiping a little drool from the corner of his mouth.

"I just can't, it would be wrong- like cheating."

"From when did you play by their rules?"

He scowls down at me, obviously irritated by my pernickety ways. In a sudden flash, he tumbles down from where he is straddling over me, attacking my lips as his hips grind into mine.

"Just fuck me already…"

Everything was a blur from there on.

I vaguely remember him stripping off our clothes. I don't remember much but the sticky hot sensation of excitement, of course, only until the moment I feel his cool, strong grip around my leaking cock.

"Any particular requests?" he whispers in my ear, his voice tickling me and awakening me from my sex induced trance.

"I don't care, I just want you…"

He licks at my jawline, tracing his tongue up and down, paying particular attention to the sweet spot behind my ear. "Okay, let me ride you then…"

I moan a response as I feel his thigh rub against my dick, causing a sudden spark of electricity to shoot through me, like lightning, sending my head flying backwards and my throat to be exposed, like a clockwork toy that's been wound just a little too far and set into action.

I work at my cheeks, gathering spit before I suck on a finger.

I slide my hands down his side, feeling the smooth curves and angles of his sweat and ink painted skin. As my hands wander further south, across his hips and down towards his length, he lets out little murmurs of satisfaction, encouraging me further. By the time I've slipped my hand past his balls and begin to gently push a finger into his entrance, he's mewling and squirming on my thighs.

"Fuck sake, I don't need prepared, I just want you to fuck me…"

He literally pulls my hand away from his ass as he shuffles down my legs a little, so he's face to face with my crotch. Wasting no time, he takes my cock into his mouth, the warm, wet, heavenly sensation causing me to gasp. Of course, I do however have to try to push my memories of the last time I engaged in any sort of oral sex to the back of my mind, like hiding the war field of clothes and toys and trash under your bed when you were a kid- it may be hidden, but it's not gone entirely and will always keep creeping back up on you.

I don't let it waste the moment though.

Before I know it, Frank is pushing down on me, his legs splayed open across my thighs, straddling where I lay, little more than a victim, on the mattress. His hands crawl across the skin stretched over my chest- feeling my arms, my nipples, my collar bones- as he begins to rock up and down, creating the perfect rhythm as my hands join his hips, steadying him as they tease the tattooed flesh.

The sex is a fusion of frustrated feelings and overdue emotions- like it was out first time all over again, and we were nothing but horny, desperate wrecks, longing to get all of those feelings out and into the open, just get rid of them so we can enjoy it more next time.

Although I don't know if there'll be a next time this time.

I don't even know if there's a _this_ time.

Frank comes first, painting our chests white as he hits his prostate for a final time. The pulsations his climax create within his body, around me to be more exact, cause my vision to become as white as the cooling puddles on our chests.

However, when I regain sight, Frank is gone. There is no set of lips to kiss in the afterglow, no ear to murmur an 'I love you' in. There isn't even a smile to place my eyes on.

All I have left is a hand between my naked thighs.

* * *

><p>I'm left alone with Dom again later that day, Matt announcing that he had to busy himself with fetching "supplies", leaving his partner to kill me off.<p>

It's odd the relationship I have with the poison. I've got a feeling it may have some sort of addictive quality to it, for as the days go by in here, my body begins to convulse and shake slightly more with every hour without the drug. Maybe it was part of their plan in the first place, so that even if Frank did stop killing me off, I would want it because my body is craving the mysterious substance.

I can feel myself grow weaker with it though. I feel tired almost constantly, though that might be due to stress, and my stomach is so sick I can barely eat, though that too could be due to the situation.

I'm glad Frank isn't here to watch me die though.

I often wonder what people on the outside world, my friends and family that aren't trapped within the warehouse, are thinking. I wonder if they miss us. I wonder if they're scared. I wonder how long they've spent looking for us and if they manage to sleep at night. I wonder if my parents are as sick as I am. I wonder if my brother cries whenever he thinks about me. I wonder if my friends have been living their lives as normal, or if they've spent every waken hour in pain.

I wonder a lot. I have a lot of time to spend wondering.

I also spend a lot of time wondering about Dom.

I don't know why, but something always felt just a little bit _off _about him. It was like he was holding some sort of deep dark secret, a secret in which he felt the need to disguise with a thick layer of anger and infuriation. I always wondered what was lurking behind the make-up. Something always seemed to point towards his relationship with Matt though.

"So how long have you and Matt been together?"

Dom scowls as he approaches me, needle loaded with ammo in hand. I'm surprised that I've got so used to being in the presence of needles, never mind getting them pushed into my veins, so quickly. Al throughout my life, ever since I was a little kid screaming bloody murder in the doctor's waiting room, I've been terrified of the _things_, but after getting them shoved into my arms every day for God only knows how long, you kind of adjust to it.

"Really, you're going to start with all of these personal questions again?"

I shrug a little as Dom kneels by my side, rolling up the half sleeve of my gown so it is rustled up at my collar bone. I watch him intently as he gently teases the needle into my skin, slowly loading me up with fatality. Maybe it's my imagination, but there seems to be some sort of grey cloud of reluctance hovering over him as he does it. But then again, it is difficult to see when the rain is constantly falling in your eyes.

Pulling the now empty needle from the confines of my skin, his eyes meets mine and he sighs, a mixture of surrender and annoyance plaguing his actions. "We've been together for a couple of years now…"

I nod, digesting the answer. "How did you meet, if you don't mind me asking?"

He laughs almost automatically, a laugh that is filled with genuine amusement as opposed to the bitter tasting sarcastic cackle he may have given off in a past occasion. His eyes sparkle with humour as they meet mine.

"You honestly wouldn't believe me if I told you!"

I raise an eyebrow in question. More than anything else, it scares me how comfortable I can feel around him.

"Well, I'm sure you've heard of Stockholm syndrome…"

My jaw drops. I'm not sure whether I should be amazed or disgusted because, by God, I had heard of Stockholm syndrome. I had heard of its devastating ways, of how the media grimaced at the thought of the condition. It really is a simple concept- originating from the '70's, when a group of Swedish bank employees where held at gunpoint for days, yet on their release declared their love and loyalty to the men, showering them in kisses as they were dragged away by the cops – yet it was a stomach turning thought. I'd considered the prospect of it before in my time in the warehouse, knowing fine well that there was just as much chance of me falling for one of them as there was of them releasing me, but the idea that someone could have fell for them before _shocked_ me.

I'd never thought that Dom could have been something before he was what he is now. It was just unimaginable. Dom was a captor; he had never been a victim- just another theory that had been completely disproved.

"So", I continue, treading carefully as I cross that ever so thin ice, "Was there someone before Matt? Someone before this place?"

He smiles. Melancholic. His smile feels genuine, yet there is an flavour of sadness hiding underneath, much like the one that my imaginary Frank often gives me. I can tell he's remembering life before he came to this place. I bet he misses it, because I know I do.

"Yeah, Chris."

The silence overcomes us for another couple of minutes, intertwining its way through our thoughts and memories until all we can feel is the bitter sweet numbing of loss and forgetting. Sometimes when I see the way Dom looks across the room, his eyes directed towards the tiny window, I think he's going to cry. I wouldn't be surprised if I did.

"Do you miss him?"

He nods. Just a nod, a simple yet explanatory nod. He misses Chris like fuck, I can tell. They were in love, right until Matt kidnapped them and played his stupid little game with them. I bet Dom never stopped loving him, even as death parted them.

"But I have Matt now. He's all I could ever need."

But there's fear in his voice. Fear and longing. For the first time in my life I feel sorry for my captor.

"You see, technically Matt isn't holding me a prisoner any more", he explains in more detail, but it sounds like he is questioning his own words, "I could leave this place any time I want. But I don't want to…"

He reaches his hand towards my face, stroking along my ever more protruding jawline. In a normal situation, I wouldn't mind my sudden weight loss- in fact; I would welcome it with open arms- but here it only worries me. The mix of drugs and limited food obviously can't be doing me any good- it was designed to kill me.

"It really is a shame you're going to die", he whispers, genuine sorrow piercing through his voice like a blade, "I kind of like you…"


	5. I Stopped Counting the Days Long Ago

**Yet another chapter that has taken me like years to upload... Sorry guys, this is the second last chapter anyway...**

* * *

><p>My jaw drops open as I feel the piping hot metal push against my lips, charring the skin and leaving what is likely to be horrendous blisters. It drops the scorching contents onto my tongue and I feel it trickle down the back of my throat, hot like tar straight on the road.<p>

Yes, I know it's just a spoonful of minestrone soup, but seriously, they could have let the bloody stuff cool or something before feeding it to me. It honestly feels like I'm swallowing down molten lava.

Dom takes a handkerchief to my lips, wiping up the little splodge of tomato flavoured liquid that has escaped the corner of my trembling mouth. It's mortifying-it really is- that I have grown so weak from the poison that I can't even _wipe my fucking face_, never mind perform normal day to day tasks. I feel like little more than a cripple or some sort of disgusting slob who can't even get up to take a fucking piss or feed himself.

I feel dead.

I know I'm not dead yet, not quite yet, as there is a little drop of life still pumping through my veins, but I can tell that it won't be long until this place has sucked me dry.

"So how are you feeling, Gerard?"

I let my eyes meet Matt's as he makes his way towards me, needle in hand. I can't help but wonder how many people he's killed, even before the arrival of his assistant stroke lover, and why in the name of God he hasn't been caught yet.

"Not good, I guess. But you probably already know that, considering you're the cause of it…"

Matt shakes his head, tutting slightly. "Now, Gee darling, we all know fine well that _Frank_ is the one that's killing you, not us."

I spit at the floor, almost like I'm trying to spit his words out from my memory. He's a liar. A sick, twisted, filthy liar. If he hadn't fucking _kidnapped_ either of us in the first place, then neither of us would be going through pain or being pumped full of poison or fucking _dying._ However, as much as I know that he is a contorted psychopath, part of me has to agree with him. Isn't Frank after all the one agreeing to poison me? Isn't he the one refusing to indulge in the men's sexual pleasures, paying the price of my death, even when he knows I'm trying to save his life? It scares me a hell of a lot. It makes me wonder if he loves me to the same level I love him. It makes me wonder if I mean anything at all, since he's so eager to give me up.

I wish I could remember something from the night of the kidnapping.

"Spitting is rude. You should know that. Now, relax your arm so I can give you this…"

He gets down on his knees, down to my level, almost knocking Dom out of the way as he does so, like he's some piece of trash. Dom doesn't take any notice though- barely even acknowledges his existence. It's like he's just been pushed over by a breeze- slightly taken aback, but not badly shaken- and just has to brush himself off a little.

Matt pushes the needle through my skin, steady and smooth like the silvery slip of a blade against the welcoming pulse of fresh flesh. It's easy now. I'm well used to the novelty of an injection by now as I've been getting them every day for God knows how long now, so the throb of the liquid entering my bloodstream in a series of rhythmic, analogous pumps feels no more unusual than the side effects that come hand in hand with it.

I feel woozy. My body convulses. My joints tremble like the weakest of autumn leaves, slowly rotting as they lie desolate on the ground, trodden on and forgotten. I sweat. I can't sleep, and if I ever do manage to catch forty winks, I'm awoken by the most disgusting of nightmares. My head aches like it's being pounded with a sledge hammer. My stomach growls with hunger constantly, though I vomit after digesting even the smallest ounce of food. I'm tired. I have no strength. The only thing I desire any more is death.

It makes you wonder what they're actually pumping into me.

"Good Gerard. It's encouraging to know you've got over your fear." Matt dabs a cotton bud over the pinprick on my arm. I don't understand why they try to keep everything so clean and sterile. I'm going to die in the end anyway.

Within a couple of minutes they've gathered up all of their stuff and making their way out of my cell, leaving me to another restless night alone. I watch as they close the heavy iron door behind them, waiting on the satisfying click of the door being locked.

The click doesn't come.

* * *

><p>I don't know how long I've been staring at the door when I finally decide to make my escape. It could have been only a couple of hours, but my bet is on a lot longer. All I could do was stare at the door like I was staring down the barrel of a gun- a game of Russian roulette. Yes, I could escape out of this place alive, grasp freedom with my own two hands and take for my own, getting rid of this sterile hell forever, but in reality, I had no idea what was found beyond the stiff metal doorframe. Like a shotgun, it could be an empty shot, but there was still a chance that it might have the capability of blowing the brains out of my fucking skull.<p>

But after God only knows how long of internal debating, I decide I may as well take the risk.

I'm going to die because of the poison anyway if I don't.

It's a struggle simply getting to the door. I don't care how short a distance it really was, but the few meters from my mattress to the doorway felt like a fucking _marathon_ thanks to the weight of my lifeless body being heaved across the floor like a body snatcher dragging a corpse. That's what it felt like- it felt like by body wasn't really my own, it was just this shit heavy lump of rotting flesh I had to carry with me.

I let out a sigh of relief when I finally reach the door, wrapping my fist around the slim silver of the door handle, cool against my sweaty palms. I breathe in. Push down. Feel the swing. The door is open.

The room is empty of people, but certainly isn't empty.

I recognized it as the first room I had seen of this place- the room I had woken up in on the night of the kidnapping- but it looked so different. Maybe it was the different angle or lighting, maybe it was the fact that this time I wasn't screaming and crying and fucking panicking, but it was almost like it wasn't real this time. It was like a movie set. It was like everything was just a prop in the movie I'd been acting in for the last couple of weeks. Only this really wasn't a movie.

I'd gained a little strength by this point; maybe from the loosening of my joints, I wasn't really sure, but it allowed me to hobble around on two feet, using walls and surfaces for balance of course. This let me have a closer look at my surroundings than the brief glimpse I had caught previously.

The walls were plastered in the same gritty white tiles as my own cell, bit the grout between the tiles in here had a suspiciously noticeable coat of dirty crimson grime, the floor sporting the same hideous linoleum, though with more stains.

I could only guess how many people they'd killed in here.

There was a hospital bed in the centre- smothered in yellowing sheets and situated beside an IV drip- with a counter to its side, overflowing with questionable surgery equipment- scalpels, needles, tweezers. It wasn't these things that intrigued me though. The real eye catching thing was found on the large shelve running across the length of the back wall of the room, near the other door. The shelve was decked with thirty, maybe even forty jars, each jar filled with a golden liquid, identified by a single tattered label, and containing a single floating object.

It was only on closer inspection that I could tell that the jars were all filled with human body parts.

I try not to vomit as I let my eyes scan across the detached organs, and I'm thankful for the fact that my stomach is more or less empty, as if it hadn't been I probably would have. They're all in various degrees of decay, although all have been slowed by the pickling quality of the liquid in the jar and come in little pairs - two jars with ears followed by two jars with eyes and so on and so forth. Reading the labels, I digest name by name the owner of the finger- all of them go unrecognized- every single one having a single word inscribed underneath- 'Dead.'

The first exception I found to this little rule was a jar labelled "Dominic Howard". The jar was the home of what appeared to be a toe and the label lacked the presence of the word 'dead'.

I'm guessing that was Dom's jar.

It really did send goose bumps across the surface of my flesh, like someone prickling needles across my skin. The scariest part was the jar that followed, also containing a toe, was labelled 'Chris Wolstenholme- Dead'.

It probably sounds stupid. You're probably laughing at the fact that there was a fucking pickled toe in a jar, but believe me, if you were in my shoes, you wouldn't be. Not at all.

I wander further along the shelf; grieving over the names of the people I never met yet know exactly how they felt. All are dead. All are strangers.

And then I find my own jar.

It really is the most obscure thing, watching your own dissected pinkie finger bobbing about in a foul smelling vinegar jelly, knowing that it should be found on the stump that now ridicules your hand. It didn't look like it belonged to me. It was like the thing in the jar was just a lifeless lump of clay, never having contained any life or prosperity.

Not much different from the body it left behind.

And then I notice the jar to its right.

I see another pinkie- slender, inked. It looks just like how I remember it, though the warm glow of flesh has been drained from it, leaving it grey, like rubber.

I read the label.

'Frank Iero- Dead'.

I choke.

I spew.

My head aches, buzzing like someone is running sander across the inside of my skull. It doesn't feel like it's actually happening. To me, it is nothing but a bad dream and in a minute I'm going to wake up and it'll all be over, though I'm sure I've said something along the lines of that recently.

I look at the label again, just to make sure. Just to double check. Though, much to my expectations, nothing has changed and the little sticky label still screams at me that Frank is dead- that they have killed him.

But it can't be true. It just _can't_ be. That's what I try to tell myself at least. I try to tell myself that he is still alive and safe. I try to tell myself a load of ridiculous things- that he's sitting at home, happy, in front of the television, waiting on me to come home, that he's out of the place, that he'd never even been here in the first place- and at one point I almost have myself convinced.

Then I see the finger again.

It floats in the water, strangely angelic, like it is suspended in the shimmering case of light. It seems like it has been there for an eternity, forever trapped in the glass as it grows old, the water glimmering and glowing around it. It's like it has almost been forgotten by time itself.

And for a second, everything almost feels peaceful.

"Kill them all."

I turn round at the sound of a voice in my ear. Frank stands at the door, the door I haven't explored yet. He's fresh faced; his skin tinted with a juvenile rose blush, like the white sugar powder of his skin has been brushed by the most delicate shade of pink, just adding a glow to his smile. He grins at me, eyes dark like the depth of night, dusted with the lightest iridescence of stars. And I could die for them. I really could. I could dive into them and get lost forever in the depths of space, never to return to the rotting, blistering surface of Earth, forever to roam the skies as a star, creating life and dazzling it exquisitely.

But within a blink he's gone again. And before I know it I'm stumbling towards the door, almost like I've forgotten about my lack of strength, pushing down the handle and revealing the room behind it. I'm floating, barely controlling my own actions, being pulled and guided by some inhuman exterior force. And for some reason I trust it.

I'm led to a hallway. It isn't anything special- painted a clinically decaying hue of yellow, the same plastic flooring, dimly lit with the faint flickering of strips of ceiling bulbs, illuminating the figure of someone lying on the floor.

It's barely a silhouette, but I can tell a mile away that it is Dom who is lying on the floor, deeply sleeping, body snugly wrapped in an old dust sheet. He looks peaceful. I always thought there was something almost beautiful about him when he was like that, like some inner notion of calm.

I creep down the hallway to where I see the outline of another doorway, just a slim silver slice painted into the darkness of the wall. I'm quiet. I'm fucking _deathly_ quiet as I know if Dom is woken, he'll bloody well kill me. And that's not really something I want to have to go through with right now.

My body is starting to ache again, the adrenalin no longer being enough to keep me moving, and I feel my joints start to stiffen as I clamber along the hallway, eventually becoming so painful I have to fall to my knees and crawl. As I near the end of the hallway, my eyes catch something. The large canisters sit against the wall, metallic tankers of what I read to be gasoline.

"Burn it all down."

Frank is by my side again, chin rested on my shoulder as I slump against one of the canisters, exhausted and completely worn. What I would give at that moment just to close my eyes and drift off into the indefinite eternity of sleep, shielded by the safe arms of my lover.

"Empty them all over the place, there's matches back in the surgery. Do it quick. Burn it down and get away before he wakes up."

"I can't… I need… I need to find you first Frank…"

Frank sighs, pressing his face against mine. My body begins to shudder as I feel his breath float out of his lungs, pool together with mine, creating a tidal wave of emotion to wash over me and drench me to the bone.

"Gerard, please…"

His voice is quivering just like me, shaking as he pulls me in closer, his cheeks sticky as they press into mine. I often wonder if this representation of Frank shows how he really feels, or if it's just another part of my mind, a subconscious form of protection, a fight-or-flight instinct.

"No Frank, I'm gonna save you. I promise you Frankie, I really do…"

Frank shakes his head, though I'm not sure if it might just be the vibrations of him crying, as I think I can hear him sob, gentle and quiet under his breath. He places a kiss on my cheek and I can't help but dread what he's going to say next.

"I think you know just as well as I do Gee… You just need to remember…"

"No. No. You're lying. You're just my mind playing tricks on me. You're just part of my imagination, trying to scare me. You're still alive Frankie; I just need to go find you. Please?"

There is a rustling sound. My head jolts round in panic to see a slight movement from the clump that had once been a peacefully sleeping Dom.

He woke up.

And Frank is gone. Just like that, his comforting presence is gone, like blossom blowing away in the spring breeze.

"Gerard? Gerard, is that you? Gera- What the fuck are you doing?"

The sleep intoxicated beast rises from the floor, charging over to me like he's going to rip my throat out. Fully dressed, he towers over me, his eyes gleaming with the looming presence of anger, grabs my cheeks between a filthy palm and lifts me to my feet.

"Were you… You were going to fucking burn this place with gasoline! That's what you were going to do, weren't you? You were going to fucking kill me!"

I shudder beneath his presence as he slams me to the floor, kicking me down. I feel the skin of my face slap off the linoleum as he forces it down with his fist.

"You were going to kill me, you filthy little bastard! You fucking cunt… How could you do that? I'd been fucking _nice_ to you. I'd fucking respected you and God damn _trusted_ you! And then what do I get back in return? A fucking attempt of murder!"

I stutter, trying to force out a reply of some sort, but crushes my mouth and jaw at any attempt of noise. He glares down at me, his eyes stinging raw red and jawline and eye socket dusted with a mist of grisly blue.

I guess psychopaths can have fights too.

"You know, I really liked you. I really did. I felt like I knew you, when I talked to you. I felt like you were my fucking friend. And you know what? For a bit there I thought I was in love with you. I really did. I was even thinking of saving you. I even tried to convince _Matt_ out of killing you, which believe me, isn't a very sensible thing to do. I fucking sacrificed my own safety for you, and this is what I get. You know what? I'm going to fucking get you back…"

He grabs the collar of my gown, lifting me to my feet, smashing me into the wall. The pungent odour of blood fills my nostrils as I hear the cataclysmic crunch of cartilage against concrete. Fingers wrap round my shoulders, his pasty breath round my neck. It's only when I hear the silvery buzz of a zipper that I work out what my fate is destined to be.

"N-no! Please don't!"

"Shut up, faggot" he growls, nails scraping as my back as he hitches the gown above my waste, leaving my bottom half completely bare, "I'll do whatever I want with you."

"But I can re-refuse… the game! I don't have to…"

My breath is sticky and heavy and broken as I try to twist away from his grasp, but he is strong despite his slender build, or at least stronger than me.

"The game? You escaped and tried to fucking kill me! I think I should be entitled to break the rules a little as well…"

I feel him hard against my hip. I try to tear away. I kick. I scream. There's no use. He claws at my ass. He lines himself up. My body thrashes. Pounds. The thumping in my chest echoes through my ribcage. My throat cracks, splinters from shrieking.

"…And this is how I'm going to break them."

There's a hot rush of pain as he enters me and I find tears flooding down my red tinted cheeks as he thrusts straight into me, unprepared. I scream, the noise unsettling in the silence of the empty warehouse, yet it bothers Dom in no significant way as he proceeds to pull out slightly, only to push back in seconds later. My body is electrified with shudders of agony, pulsing with pain, my senses crumbling with ever roll of his hips, decaying with every groan that escapes his lips. The air is thick, clammy with the pungent echo of shrieks and soft grunts.

My struggles of escape go unrewarded, my thrashes and jolts nothing to his superior strength. My body is frail and my muscles almost non-existent due to the poison, and eventually I give up trying to break free, accepting that I am powerless. I feel weak, used, insignificant and most importantly, dirty.

He rapes me. He rapes me up against the wall, my face rubbing and burning against the flaking paintwork, his growingly heavy moans clawing in my ear.

"Fucking take it Gerard! I'm trying to show you that I love you!"

I feel myself gradually begin to grow hard, not that I really want to, but the near-hits to my prostate are bound to trigger something. Not that he's would ever think of letting me cum.

"Stop fucking whining, you little bitch!"

I can't though. My lungs are lacking the vital element of oxygen, replaced with the odour of fresh blood and sweat, and my bones ache more and more with every time my torso is smashed into the wall. His fingers dig into my hips, pinching the sensitive flesh. Everything hurts. I just want it to end so I can curl up and die.

Eventually though, it does.

My cheeks sticky with tear and body trembling, he finishes in me, snarling my name in my ear like it's some form of curse word. Pulling out, I fall to the floor and my jaw is met with his foot. He fastens up his jeans, gets down to my level, wiping the mess in his hands in my hair, before leaving with another kick, just for the sentimentality.

He leaves me in the hallway, alone, cold and used.

All I can do is sit and sob. Everything aches, my skin swollen, torn and bloody. I feel like my body has been a canvas for the most obscene of paintings, that I am nothing but a disgusting image that will be eventually censored from society. I look down at my skin, already black with bruises. I look like a whore.

I feel like a whore.

I am a whore.

I jack myself off before crying myself to sleep on the cold, hard, linoleum floor.


End file.
